Tomorrow
by Enlee
Summary: Saying goodbye is hard to do. House/Wilson. Oneshot. A continuation of the stories that started with "Painless". Please read and review!


"You sure about this?" Wilson asked, his hand on House's shoulder.

House reached up and covered the hand with his own. His eyes scanned the room; almost everything was packed up in boxes. Very few boxes, he noted. But that would be changing very soon. Tomorrow night they would be moving into a new home with a nice big basement to sleep in. There would be plenty of time to furnish the new home with everything they needed and plenty of things they didn't.

But tonight was different. Tonight House needed to pay someone a visit. A visit he was dreading. He said the visit would happen tonight so he could finally get it over with, yet Wilson could clearly see House's reluctance.

"I'm sure," House replied, though he sounded anything but sure. It sounded more like it was the last thing the world he wanted to do.

"You don't have to."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do. I've put it off long enough."

"So put it off another week or two. Make absolutely sure this is something you want to do. What's the big deal?"

"She's not getting any younger, Jimmy," House snapped. "If I don't do this now, something bad is going to happen to her or to me and I'm going to regret it either way."

"Are you going to tell her what you are?"

"Only if she asks." In other words, no.

Wilson walked around the chair to face his friend. "You've never regretted anything in your entire life before."

"There's a first time for everything."

"You've never gone this far out of your way for anyone before…except maybe me. Why her? Why now?"

House met Wilson's eyes, and Wilson noted the sadness in them. A genuine sadness. Something that showed itself as rarely as genuine happiness back in their old life. Weren't they supposed to be leaving all that sadness, pain and misery behind?

He's about to say goodbye to one of the few people he truly loved, Wilson reminded himself. He has every right to be miserable right now.

"For once in my life…and hers," House began, "I want to do the right thing. I want her last memory of me to be a good one. I want her to be proud of me. She deserves that much and so do I."

* * *

"Greg!" Blythe House's eyes lit up when she saw who was standing on her doorstep. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you," House mumbled, though his mother was hardly paying attention as she had caught sight of the man accompanying her son. "James!" she greeted. "It's been ages. How are you?"

"I'm fine, Mrs. House," Wilson replied with a smile.

"Goodness, what brings you two by at this ridiculous hour?"

"Can we come in, Mom?"

"For goodness sake, Greg," Blythe House said, exasperated. "This is your home too, you know."

"I've never lived here."

"My home is your home. You know that."

"I do. And you haven't answered my question."

"Do I have to send you an invitation in the mail? Come in before I change my mind." She stood aside and pulled her robe closed as her two guests brushed by her and stepped into the living room. "Must be a storm coming," she said, closing the door. "It's suddenly cold."

She turned to her son and blinked. "Where's your cane?"

House answered dully, "I don't have it with me."

Not wanting to interfere with the inevitable, Wilson stood by the fireplace. On the mantle was a picture of Mr. and Mrs. House on their wedding day, along with a few baby pictures, school pictures and candids of Gregory House. Looking at them, Wilson couldn't help but notice how happy, lithe and athletic House appeared to be in them, especially the three pictures snapped while he had been playing backyard sports games. Wilson pretended to be totally engrossed in them as the conversation between mother and son continued.

"Is your leg feeling better?" Blythe asked. "Is that why--"

"I'm not here about my damn leg," House broke in, sounding agitated.

Mrs. House blinked again and frowned. "Oh…well…is something else wrong?"

"I guess you could say that."

"Greg, will you please--"

"I'm here to say goodbye, Mom," House replied quickly, as if getting a confession off his chest and out of his conscious.

"Goodbye?" she puzzled. "Are you going somewhere?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Where are you going?"

"Away from here. And I'm not coming back."

"But--"

"Mom!" House snapped, then immediately regretted it. In a softer voice he said, "Mom, please, this is hard enough already."

"All right." She was obviously getting flustered. "Where are you going?"

"I can't tell you."

Mrs. House stepped closer to her son. "Why not?"

"Because I can't."

"If you can't tell me where you're going, can you at least tell me why you're leaving?"

"No."

"Damn you, Greg!" She shrieked so suddenly and loudly that House visibly flinched and Wilson nearly knocked half the pictures off the mantle. "Why are you being like this?"

"Because I don't have a choice."

"Just answer my questions! Why can't you do that?"

House told her, "Because I can't answer them! You don't want to know why! The only thing I can say is that for the first time in my life I have a chance at being happy and I'm doing the right thing by leaving." He pointed to the front door. "Whether I answer your damn questions or not, I'm still going to walk out that door and never come back. I came here, Mom, because I thought you deserved a proper goodbye from your only child. Now I think the last thing we can do for each other is sit down and do this the right way."

For nearly a minute Mrs. House blinked back tears, a scarlet blush spread up from her neck. Her son brought her the box of tissues from the lamp table. Neither had so much as glanced at Wilson since they walked in the door. He slipped out that same door and knew that they didn't notice him leaving and understood why.

Wilson sat on the front steps and looked up at the night sky. The moon appeared to be caught in the tree tops; Wilson remembered that his dad used to tell him that the moon always got stuck in the trees on its way up and smiled at the memory. Wisps of clouds reflected its silvery light. The bark of a dog echoed from down the street. The wind picked up and Wilson could smell the rain in it. Blythe House was right, a storm was coming.

Half an hour later House opened the front door and staggered down the front steps without glancing at his friend. He stopped in the middle of the front yard; Wilson could hear him taking in huge gulps of air as if he had surfaced from a great depth.

"Is everything all right?" Wilson asked, and immediately felt stupid for asking it.

"No."

"Where's your mom?"

"I told her to go to bed. She's asleep."

"What did you tell her?"

House turned around and answered, "That you and I are together and we're getting a fresh start. She said if anyone could make me happy, it was you. She said to tell you goodbye."

Wilson was quiet for a few moments before asking, "Did you tell her what you are now?"

"She couldn't understand why I leaving for good until I showed her."

"But she won't remember that in the morning."

"No." House sounded relieved. "She'll remember that I did the right thing by coming to say goodbye before I left for good, and she understands that I have every reason to leave so I can finally be happy. Greg House plays the good son, even if he had to break his own heart to do it."

House stared down at his feet and would have cried if he had still been capable of producing tears. But he was still fully capable of feeling heartache and guilt.

Wilson reached over and took his friend's hand. "She'll remember you as doing what was best. Isn't that what you came here for?"

"I suppose." House didn't sound convince. "But I did discover something I wasn't counting on."

"What?"

"Every silver lining has a dark cloud." He shook his hand free from Wilson's. "We need to get going."

--The End


End file.
